The 13 Fearlings
by xdragonslayerx
Summary: Thirteen short stories each containing the origin of a Fearling created by the one and only Pitch Black.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own "Rise of the Guardians" or "The Guardians of Childhood." That would be freakin' sweet, but no. Also, I make no monies from this fic.

**Author's Note: **My mind is truly a terrible thing. I thought about what it must be like to be turned into a Fearling and this happened. 13 one-shots of different children all over the world at different times and places getting turned into dark, awful creatures. Pitch takes them without mercy, for he is the Nightmare King, the Boogeyman, and evil incarnate in a way I don't think the movie quite made clear. I'm going to rectify that problem.

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#1

_New York, United States of America, 1876_

Liam glared at the sign on the factory's employee door: "IRISH need not apply." After he spat on the ground, Liam turned on his heel, walking back into the alleyway from whence he came. Scratching at his lice infested ginger head, Liam ignored the growling of his stomach. His ma would be right pissed if he stole anything today, so he abstained from pilfering an apple off the fruit cart.

Liam's ma worked days and nights, by day in a factory and at night on the streets. Liam came home for supper, the only real meal they could afford. The sun was setting as Liam made his way home. Shadows casted strange illusions along the alleyway walls. The nine year old gulped down his nervousness. He repeated to himself over and over again, 'I ain't afraid. I ain't afraid.'

When he got to the run down five story brick housing he called home, Liam let out sigh of relief. He quickly ran through the front door and tromped up the stairs, giving a small shout of, "Hi!" to the landlord before he went on his way. The landlord grumbled something back before he went back to sweeping the floor.

Liam called out as he opened their door. "Ma! I'm home!"

Silence greeted him back. Liam frowned. The church bells rang in the distance, chiming for five, dinnertime. Liam looked around the tiny one room they shared. "Ma?" Liam turned back around to search the hallway. Miss Larson smoked a cigarette near the window at the end of the hall, but no sign of his mother.

Liam called out, "Miss Larson! Have you seen my ma?"

Miss Larson puffed out some smoke as she shook her head. "Ain't seen 'er all day, lad."

Liam nodded. "Go raibh maith agat!"

"Tá fáilte romhat." Miss Larson said with a disinterested grimace.

Liam walked back inside the apartment, closing the door softly behind him. As he walked forward, Liam noticed that things had been moved. Liam felt a punch to his stomach when he saw the drawers slightly opened on her side, revealing emptiness within them. Liam's dashed to look under the bed, flinging his ma's knitted quilt out of the way.

No bag. Only a dusted outline of one. Liam let out a small whimper. "No." The child stood up, walking over squeaky floorboards to a corner of the room. With his fingernails, Liam popped open a little compartment in the wall. An empty coffee can made Liam start sobbing.

"Ma! Mama! No! Please!" Liam curled up into a ball, as if to shield himself from the awful truth.

She left him. Alone. In the dark. 'What do I do? Where do I go?' Liam thought, 'What will happen to me? Why? Am I such a bad boy? Ma, come back! I need you!'

"Poor, poor boy."

Liam gasped. He flung himself against the wall. A black robed man stood in the center of the room. Harsh yellow eyes stared down at Liam. "Abandoned by your mother. How sad." The man stepped towards him.

Liam stuttered out, "H-How d-did you g-get in?" The door was still closed. Liam would've heard it open and shut, right?

The man chuckled. "I came in with the night."

Liam did not like the sound of that. "Listen, I don'na know who ya think ya are, but Ah'm not interested in wha'ever you're sellin'." Liam bit his lip. His accent came out a little thick when he got scared.

"Now, now." The man held out a grey hand. "Your fear is understandable."

"Níl eagla orm!" Liam shouted.

The man chuckled. "Oh, but I think you are, little Liam." He walked forward, grinning with teeth sharp as razors. "After all, it's not every day the Boogeyman himself comes calling."

"The Boogeyman?" Liam's clutched his chest in horror, grasping at the cross his mother gave him so many years ago. "Stay back!"

The man quirked a brow. "I am no demon, child." He stalked ever forward. "I am made of fear and darkness."

Liam gritted his teeth as he stood up. "I won't let you take me!" Liam kept a hand clutched to his chest.

"Oh," the monster flicked a wrist, conjuring an apple in his hand, "I think you will."

Liam froze at the sight of the apple. Unconsciously, Liam licked his lips. The Boogeyman stretched out his hand, bringing the apple closer to Liam.

"Hunger feeds fear so well." The Boogeyman said, "Go on. Take a bite."

Liam shook his head, even as he took his hand off his cross to lift it up. "It's wrong."

The Boogeyman smirked. "I imagine that wrong can taste so sweet to a starving child."

Liam stepped forward, hand trembling. "I shouldn't." Tears fell down his cheeks. "It's a trick."

"Of course it is, dear boy." The Boogeyman huffed with amusement as Liam took the apple from his hand. "But you don't care anymore, do you?"

Liam held the luscious rosy fruit in both his hands. With a broken sob, he said, "No."

The Boogeyman nodded as Liam bit into the skin. "They never do."

Liam whimpered as the panic consumed him. Every bit of his flesh, every beat of his heart, twisted, warped, crashed into nightshade. Liam dropped the apple onto the floor. It shattered into a thousand inky mirror pieces. The shadows crawled out from underneath the bed, between the cracks in the floorboards, each and every one whispering a terrible welcome to the fold. Liam shook his head in denial, but he knew it was too late.

The Boogeyman grinned down at him, stepping forward to wrap his arms around Liam in a mockery of a father's embrace. "What a darling little fearling you've become."

Liam yowled, not screamed as he intended. A chorus of yowls responded to his own. The Boogeyman threw his head back in vicious laughter. With a faltering consciousness, Liam tried to plead to let him go back to being a boy, for mercy from this cruel fate. Instead, the Boogeyman tilted his chin up to look at him in the eyes.

Liam fell into the piercing gaze, forgetting everything.

Fearlings do not love. Fearlings do not care.

In forgetting he was a boy, Liam forgot his heart. No longer did anything beat in his chest.

Fearlings scare. Fearlings feed on fear.

Ginger locks transformed into black ethereal tangles. Pale skin darkened to dense grey emptiness.

Fearlings are fear.

Legs dissolved, arms shriveled, and green eyes turned to striking yellow.

"I am Pitch Black, your Nightmare King. Obey me."

The Fearling grinned. '_Of course, master.'_

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Historical Notes:

1876 was a harsh time for children in New York, especially children in Irish families. All too often, stores posted signs "Irish Need Not Apply" in blatant discrimination against anyone from Ireland. Youths were often abandoned by parents simply too overburdened with trying to survive in these awful conditions. Even though child labor was an extremely popular trend among factories, the stigma attached to the Irish prevented even the children from getting jobs. I figured a Boogeyman would have ample feeding ground here for making new fearlings.

Translation Notes:

Gaelic - English

Go raibh maith agat- Thank you

Tá fáilte romhat- You're welcome

Níl eagla orm- I'm not afraid

Please review! (Also if you wish to correct my Gaelic, please do. I researched and double checked it, but if I'm wrong anyway, let me know).


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of "Rise of the Guardians" or "The Guardians of Childhood." I merely play in this fantasy world with terrifying glee.

**Author's Note: **I'm trying to upload these in the small spaces of time that I have available to me. I intend to finish these up by the end of the week. Hopefully, all thirteen will be uploaded and completed by Saturday.

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#2

_Cape Town, Africa, 1983_

Kainda ran through the streets. Huffing and puffing, the seven year old girl stayed just ahead of her pursuers. Men shouted at her, whistled and cat calling. Nights in Nyanga are not kind to little orphans such as her. She doesn't think she can survive another brutal assault like last week. The volunteer doctor she trusted won't come for another month.

Slipping between one of hundred shoddy built houses with tin roofs, Kainda squeezed herself into a shaded crevice. Praying with all her might, Kainda hoped that her God hears her prayers, if only just this once.

A voice chuckled beside her ear, "A God I am not, but I think I can help."

Kainda gasped as a grey hand covers her mouth. The shadows slid along the walls, like ink over paper. Kainda heard the men come. Struggling against the hold, she tried to escape, but her captor merely chuckled.

"Hush now. We wouldn't want the bad men to get you, now would we?" The lit of his voice seemed to imply that's his job.

Kainda shivered. Kainda wondered, 'Who is this man? Will he hurt me? Will he sell me?'

The men's shout, loud and close. Kainda looked to the end of the street. The men's malevolent eyes pass right over her. They scowled with rage, promising agony unless she went to them.

The man behind Kainda cackled behind her. "Let's see if we can give them a good scare for their trouble, hmm?"

Another grey hand flicked out in front of her. A darkly ethereal creature burst forth with sharp teeth and yellow eyes. Kainda shuddered as it sails towards the men. Yipping like a hyena, it pawed at the ground before the men. They cried out, terrified of a monster. Certain the girl's been eaten, they ran away.

The hand left Kainda's face, caressing a small line against her cheek as it did so. "My, my, how small you are. When's the last time you ate?"

Kainda turned to see who held her. A man with bright yellow eyes and a long sharp nose stared down at her, critically assessing her. Kainda felt such fright, trapped in his arms and gaze.

Kainda whispered, "Three days?" She hoped that if she's good he won't beat her or worse. People died so often here. Children, women, men, none escaped the grim reaper.

The man materialized an apple from the shadows. "Would you like this?" He held it out in front of her, nearly touching her lips.

Kainda's mouth watered. The red fruit appeared ripe and juicy, even though Kainda still felt scared of this tall shadow man. Kainda's big brown eyes traveled up to lock with his cruel yellow ones. The man gave her a shark's smile.

Kainda opened her mouth and took a bite. All at once, the hunger pains died. Something cold spread through her veins, starting from her mouth, then her throat, and continued until every little bit of Kainda felt doused in ice water. Oddly, the sensation didn't hurt.

Kainda smiled a shark's smile of her own. Her new father, her master, caressed her spectral face. "My, what a lovely little fearling you make."

Pitch Black gestured to the darkness. With her new yellow eyes, Kainda saw the separate entities that composed the night. Kainda joined them, excited to begin their work.

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Historical Context and Background:

Nyanga is a subdivision of Cape Town in South Africa that once held the highest crime rate in Africa. Lately, the conditions have improved and the murder rates headed in a steady decline. However, back in the early eighties, horrid gang and military violence plagued the township daily. Children were especially targeted for work mills and sex slavery, among other awful things.

Nowadays, the community is making big efforts to improve the situation, as is all of South Africa. Contrary to the Hollywood movies, South Africa has many cities and towns, not miles and miles of desert (that's actually up north).

Please review!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Once again, "Rise of the Guardians" and "The Guardians of Childhood" don't belong to me. I can't make money from this fic.

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#3

_Haryana, India 1976_

Khalid shivered under the bed. His father screamed and shouted at his mother. Every smack made Khalid flinch. Soon, all too soon, his father would come into his room. While his mother bled out on the floor, Khalid would face his father's wrath.

Tomorrow, Khalid knew it was more of the same. Suffering, after all, was the life of a Dalit, an Untouchable. Khalid's father, his father's father, his mother, his mother's mother, an endless cycle of grief for their family. The children at school taunted him. The teachers never bothered to intervene. It risked too much. None touched the Untouchables, not even other outcasts if they could help it.

"_Not even the gods love you!"_ Khalid's classmates shouted as they beat him with sticks after school, not daring to actually risk getting "tainted" by punching him. _"You'll never escape what you are!"_

"_That's not true!"_ Khalid dared to shout back, _"I believe!" _

Such a powerful spell, "I believe." Sometimes, if used just right, it can bring the caster joy and happiness. If cast in fear, however, wicked things come.

"So much noise." Khalid lets out a small scream as an arm wraps around his waist. A hand soothingly brushes through his hair. "All over a burnt dinner! How silly."

Terror crashed over Khalid. 'What! How did a man get under the bed?! Silly?' Khalid fights against the man. "Let me go! Dad! Help!"

The slaps stopped. A stumbling, drunken father fell to his knees in the hallway. Khalid felt the reverberation in the floor.

"Call out all you want." The man behind Khalid inhales his scent at the back of his throat. "He can't help you. He never could. " The man behind him chuckled, and Khalid felt the shuddering of the man's chest against his back.

"Please, no, I don't want to go." Khalid said, trying in vain to get out from under the bed. "Kokkayi, let me go! I didn't disobey! I've been good." He thought with wild desperation. 'Those are the rules! I can't be taken if I obey!'

"Ah, ah, but do you remember? Your little spell?" The man whispered against his ear, "You want to escape this life, this hell. I am fulfilling your wish. You should be grateful. Soon, the woes of this world will not touch you."

"No!" Khalid fought with all his might. Shadows covered him, slowly but surely, inching their way up, up, up to his face. "No! Dad! Please, help me!" The shadows covered him completely, choking him, suffocating him.

The man cackled. "And now, you will bring woe to others!"

Khalid's father burst into the room. "Khalid?" The father saw with horror as his son outstretched hand disappear under the bed, into an inky abyss. "No!" He dove for the boy, but all he caught was air. Khalid's father looked under the bed.

Nothing. Gone.

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Historical Context and Background:

Hindu religion is based around a caste system. Those at the very, very bottom of this caste system are the Dalit, also known as the Untouchables. In the past, Untouchables suffered gravely at the hands of those above them in the caste system. One is born into one's caste, so even if one should manage to ascend in social rank, the caste rank will follow someone until the day he or she dies.

However, in modern day India, much of that stigma has changed. Laws are now in place to protect Dalit from prejudice and strife.

Also, the Boogeyman in India goes by several different names and faces. Kokkayi is one such Boogeyman. According to legend, Kokkayi takes children away who misbehave. However, in some seriously twisted tales, the Kokkayi will just take children for no reason other than they were in the dark.

Please review!


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: Once again, I don't own Pitch Black, the Boogeyman and Nightmare King. William Joyce does, and Dreamworks borrows him on occasion.

**Author's Note**: A quick thanks to my lovely reviewers **IThinkInPoetry, CelestialTomatoMonkey, authorwnacount, and weapons **(By the way weapons, Guardian interactions shall occur in a later chapter). Thanks so much for reviewing! I apologize that my pace is super slow.

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#4

_Auschwitz I Concentration Camp, Nazi Germany 1942_

Fabian curled up with a small whimper in his dark cell. Usually, such a torturous abyss of a box wasn't used on a child, but Fabian had shouted some rather colorful German words at an SS guard. The man's infuriated bright blue eyes haunted the boy. The thirteen year old tried to breathe in and out evenly through his fear. The SS guard that shoved him into this hole beneath the earth told him with suck sickening glee, "Not much air down there, ya little Jewish bastard! And the only company you get is the böggel-mann. You deserve it for being a such a rotten little bitch and talkin' shit."

It hurt to breath, both from his mouth and nose. Every inhale made something pop in his chest. Fabian felt his clammy skin. Something poked out of place along his emaciated rib cage. Fabian choked on a sob of pain.

Strangely, even though the skin and bones prisoner knew he should worry about his imminent death, Fabian's heart beat wildly at the thought of meeting the terrifying bida. Even though war stripped him of country, home, and family, Fabian retained the heart of a child.

"Poor boy," a gentle voice echoed in the claustrophobic chamber, "all alone in the dark. So frightened, so lost, and left to rot."

Fabian let out a hysterical cry, "Pierdol sie!" Clawing at the metal, Fabian tore off one of his fingernails in his frantic attempt to escape.

"Stop that now." A grey hand wrapped around Fabian's wrist, pulling it away. "There's no need for that."

"Leave me alone!" Fabian's chest burned from hyperventilating. "Go away!"

An arm wrapped itself carefully around the boy's waist, pulling him close to an unwelcome, yet blessedly warm, body. "Fabian, forgotten child of Poland, listen to me."

The lips breathed hot air against his ear. Fabian couldn't help but shudder in disgust. It reminded him too much of other unkind nights. "Why should I? You're a monster."

"Indeed, but so are they. At least I come offering a choice." The hands absently interlocked with Fabian's. "Time is short." The Boogeyman knew it wasn't long at all until the guard came back with a candle to kill what precious life was left in this cell. "I offer you a chance to escape."

"Escape?" Fabian's voice cracked as his whole broken form tensed from shock. "Why would you offer me an escape?"

"Because you believe. After everything that's happened, you still believe." Fabian felt clawed hands squeeze his own. "I admire such strength, and I want it for my own."

"Your own?" Fabian let out a slightly panicked laugh. "So you mean I trade one prison for another?"

"Would you rather trade one prison for death?" The Boogeyman snapped, drawing the shadows in closer.

Fabian cried out in terror. He thought the gloom before was bad enough, now with the taint of malevolence Fabian trembled with such stomach-turning fear that he thought he might throw up. The Boogeyman's sharp claws pierced his skin, drawing blood. The Boogeyman sucked a deep breath, savoring his victim's horror.

Fabian shouted, "I don't want to die!"

For an instant, the shadows stilled. Fabian only heard the sound of his harsh breathing and the pounding of his own heart. Then, an awful cackle echoed in the small space.

"Very well. Death shall not have you, but I will." Fabian didn't even have enough time to gasp before his hands felt like they were being infected by tiny ants, crawling up through his arms, over his chest, spreading, destroying, remaking, feasting, changing!

The Boogeyman's golden eyes glowed. "Don't fret. You are not the first to accept, my dear boy. Nor, I suspect, will you be the last."

Slowly, the shadows shifted. Fabian's new eyes saw the ghoulishly familiar faces of other children from the camp. Many he thought dead grinned at him with razor sharp teeth. Their spindly black arms opened for him. Fabian slowly felt his mind go first, memories shattering into tiny scattered fragments. His own name vanished, leaving only the thrumming of a strong, iron will, and a desperate need for fear.

The Boogeyman petted his latest creation with affection. "Good, very good. Ah, but you must be starving." A row of gleaming shark's teeth cut through the darkness. "Let's remedy that, shall we?"

When the SS guard returned to the basement, candle in hand, Pitch Black allowed his children to snuff out the light and feed.

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Historical Notes:

Auschwitz is one of the most infamous concentration camps from Nazi Germany. It served as a labor camp and extermination camp. The dark cell Fabian is tossed into is usually reserved for the military prisoners, but I decided to use some artistic license. Dark cells were cramped and often poorly constructed box-like structures in the basements. The cells had a very tiny window and a solid door and that's it. Prisoners placed in these cells would gradually suffocate as they used up all of the oxygen in the cell; sometimes the SS would light a candle in the cell to use up the oxygen more quickly.

German and Polish:

In Germany, the Boogeyman is called the böggel-mann. In Poland, he's called the bida.

Pierdol sie- F #$ you!


	5. Chapter 5

Dislcaimer: I don't own Rise of the Guardians or Guardians of Childhood. That would be cool, but no. Also, I don't make money from this little endeavor either.

Author's Note: Sorry it's taking so long between uploads everyone. I know that it seems like I've forgotten this fic but I haven't. I just have a demanding job that requires more hours some months than others. I will try and be more consistent this month, but I can make no promises on deadlines.

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#5

_Canudos, Brazil 1897_

Maria ran through the chaos trying to find her mother. The defenders had fallen. The government was slaughtering everyone. Maria ignored the warm blood on her skin, spilled from her neighbor's throat by a maddened soldier. Maria heard women screaming in shrill panic but she ignored it. Running between houses made of straw and mud, the girl found her home.

She arrived in time to see the soldiers dragging out her mother and her mother's friends into the street. The scream lodged in Maria's throat, choking her with its suppressed intensity. Maria watched as the soldiers threw them on the ground, punching away resistance. Maria watched her mother's black hair cover a shattered face that had once been as beautiful as an angel's.

A soldier leaned over her mother, pulling her legs open with a knife in hand-.

"DON'T LOOK!" A thousand hissing voices screeched at her. A hand covered her eyes. Maria didn't fight the hold. A strong, thin arm wrapped around her and lifted her up. "Find what children you can! Get them into the shadows!" A man's distorted voice commanded as Maria was turned around so her face was buried in a man's black robe.

Maria heard other children screaming now. If it weren't for the hand holding the back of her head in place, she might've looked. As it was, she heard a furious growl from the man in response to the screams. Maria felt the man move swiftly, running along the street, evading soldiers effortlessly.

"My mother," Maria said with a small sob, "I want my mother."

"Be still." The man's voice said, gentle though firm. "Your mother can't help you now."

Maria let out a wailing sob into his chest. The thin arms tightened around her. "Hush, hush, little one, we're leaving."

Maria felt the heat of fire for a brief moment before everything fell into shocking silence. Maria trembled in the nothing. Her ears tried to catch anything at all, but Maria couldn't even hear the man's heartbeat. Only her own harsh breathing broke it.

Maria hesitantly whispered, "Where-?"

"Far, far away." The man said, kissing her temple. "Deep into darkness where they can't get you."

With a jarring step, the man stepped onto stone. Relaxing his hold, Maria lifted her head up to look. Maria's brown eyes roamed over an intricate cave structure that she almost took as a castle from her mother's stories. In front of her was a dark ball with golden lights dotted all over it. A grand staircase ascended to unknown heights in the background. Maria's mind went into a brief protest.

Where was her home? Where was her mother?

The man gently set her down on her feet. "The others shall come soon." He said as he bended down on one knee. Maria finally got a good look at him. Tall, thin and covered in black, Maria thought he reminded her of a priest gone wrong. The man's small smile belied the malice in his glowing golden eyes. Maria quaked under that stare.

"Others?" Maria asked, trying to fight her terror.

"The other children, of course." The man grinned, exposing sharp white teeth. "Although, I think you show the most potential."

"Potential?" Maria asked, gulping down anther scream.

The mysterious stranger tilted her head up, making her look straight into his golden eyes. "It's a beautiful little symphony of fear inside of you. Terror twisted with remnants of hope. I could crush it, but…" The man brushed her cheek with the backs of his knuckles. "That's too barbaric for my tastes."

Maria leaned into the touch. A part of her ached for the gentle touch despite the harsh words. "My mother?"

The man sighed as he cupped her cheek. "Many mothers have been lost today." Pitch stood up, holding out his hand. "Come along, little one."

Maria stared at his grey hand. The little girl recalled the preachers telling everyone about heaven and hell and creatures that would gladly take the wicked away to suffer. Where was the savior? She was promised a savior. She did everything right.

_Why was she forsaken?_

Maria's hand trembled as she reached out. "Am I wicked?"

"Not at all." The man's voice interrupted her thoughts. "But many children will often fall prey to wickedness beyond their control." The man said with a melancholy tone, "You are one such child."

Maria's hand interlocked her fingers with his. The touch felt so cool. The man's large hand wrapped around hers, enveloping her all the way down her wrist. Maria felt something slither between her fingers.

"Will it hurt?" Maria asked the man, certain he was taking her down into eternal fires.

"I am no devil, and you are no demon." The man squeezed her hand. The slithering feelings increased. "With any luck, you won't even remember why you're in the dark."

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Historical Context:

The War of Canudos lasted from 1896-1897. It was a civil rebellion against the central government which was brutally stamped out with the loss of more than 15,000 lives. It's estimated that over 50% of the inhabitants of Canudos died from the Republic government's siege in Brazil. Antônio Conselheiro (Antônio Vicente Mendes Maciel) was a Brazilian religious leader, preacher, and founder of the village of Canudos. Many called Antônio Conselheiro a saint and savior to the poor and neglected people of the country. However, as he was seen as a threat to the Republic and Catholicism, Canudos fell along with all his followers.

Please review!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own Rise of the Guardians or The Guardians of Childhood. I own nothing but the time and energy spent in making this fic (from which I make no money).

Author's Note & **WARNING! **: I'm making an effort to try and upload as many chapters as I can in my free time, so today is two chapters. Yay! Also, **there will be hints about sexual assault on a child. **I tried not to make it terribly explicit, but it happens and I believe the issue needs to be addressed. If this topic makes you uncomfortable, I understand, so please** don't read if it makes you uncomfortable. **It will be the central theme of this chapter.

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_#?_

_Many places, many times _

A child cries on her bed. Pitch ignores the blood all over the bed and on the child's legs. These children he knows far too well. They scream for mercy in pain and terror. Pitch can't stop the attacks, but he can take them away sometimes. Just like with the others, though, there has to be just the right flavor of fear to make a Fearling.

This one finally has it, that special cocktail of terror and belief in her that allows for Pitch to bring his fingers gently through brown hair. The child gasps when he does. These ones always fear it's their parent coming back to harm them again. Pitch smiles with no teeth. With these children he doesn't taunt or tempt because there's no need.

These children lift up their arms, willingly embracing the Boogeyman. Pitch embraces them back. If he has a child that continues crying as he takes them into the closest shadows, be it in a closet or forest, Pitch will hum a lullaby to them as he walks.

Sometimes he sings something from Earth, something the children know. Sometimes he sings a song that he barely remembers.

_"My child, be at peace._

_Let not fear guide you to sleep._

_My child, be at ease._

_Let not fears cause you to weep."_

Pitch walks through shadows, gently touching down in his lair. The Nightmares, Nightmare Men, and Fearlings gather around at the sound of his voice. Pitch cards his fingers through the girl's hair.

The girl in his arms clings to him as she keeps crying. The Fearlings circle around her, agitated by her despair. Despair tastes awful. They much prefer fear. Pitch motions for them to move aside so he can sit on his throne as he keeps singing.

_"Dear child, sing tonight._

_Let not fears take all your light._

_Dear child, close your eyes._

_Let me hold you for all time."_

Pitch sits on the throne, cradling the girl close. He always does this with such victims of violence at too young an age. Sometimes, Pitch swears some of the Fearlings remember, for they edge close to stroke the girl as well. Most likely it's simply hunger, but Pitch wonders.

_"Dream of stars dancing for wishes._

_Dream of serenading moonlight._

_Dream of worlds with beauty to see._

_Dream of all the things yet to be."_

Pitch feels the warmth of a golden locket around his throat, a heavy weight that feels all the more substantial with these children. The girl has stopped crying, merely holding onto Pitch. The Fearlings stay close, waiting for the end of the song, and a birth of a new Fearling.

_"Dream with all your heart_

_for in dreams we are never apart."_

Pitch kisses the top of the girl's head.

_"Dream of me my child,_

_for all I dream is_ you…"

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Sexual assault is a world wide problem prevalent throughout history. If you're a victim of assault, please seek help and don't allow rape culture to keep you silent.

I actually teared up a little as I wrote this poem. I imagined Pitch singing this to Seraphina and lost it for two seconds.

Please review!


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